


Asylum

by Not_You



Series: A Gentleman of Negotiable Virtue [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles Being Concerned, Erik needs a drink, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Literature, M/M, look at me being all crappy at police procedure, seriously Nawal El Sadawi is awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles bails Erik out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

Despite his doubts, Charles actually holds to his plan of waiting another two weeks (even with the pressure of Erik's immanent departure), but Erik calls him at the end of one. The ringing phone jars Charles awake at four in the morning, and he snatches it up, mumbling, "Hello?"

"Charles?" And he sounds different over the phone, everyone does, but Charles knows Erik's voice

"Erik? What's wrong?"

"I… You were the only person I could think of who might bail me out."

It turns out that he's not being figurative at all, and Charles finds himself talking to the police at five in the morning, in the sweats that are the easiest things to get on, his hair a mess. It seems silly to be embarrassed about this when Erik is facing a possible murder charge, but people are silly and Charles has never considered himself an exception. Erik doesn't look like his poised and polished self either. He's barefoot in a set of blue scrubs, eyes wide, finger-shaped bruises on his neck. He stands close to Charles's chair, shaking, and follows him out to the car.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes. Thank you." He watches as Charles shifts himself into the driver's seat, and folds the chair, tucking it into the back before sliding into the shotgun seat, whimpering quietly. "Charles, I—"

"It's all right. You can stay with me and you can borrow my lawyer."

"I'll be able to pay you back, I've got savings."

"We can talk about that later." Charles doesn't even want to think about anything, just wants to go to bed. He doesn't even remember to mention that he's living in the old family manse until they're winding their way up the drive. "…I inherited this pile," he says, miserably self-conscious.

"I have to admit, I was expecting something on one level."

"I just shelled out for lifts. It's built big enough that it only took a little remodeling to make it accessible."

"I see." He gets out and gets Charles's chair in place when they stop. "Charles, you do realize you've taken a murderous prostitute into your home?"

"I still haven't heard your side of the story, Erik. And if I thought your work was so objectionable, I wouldn't join you in it."

"Woman at Point Zero?"

"It's a very important book." 

"And I do feel like Firdaus." 

Charles smiles sadly and stretches his arms, blinking as Erik takes the chair's handles.

"Do you mind?"

"No. I always go in by the kitchen door." He gestures to the correct ramp and Erik wheels him up it. "Should I feed you? Do you need a drink?"

"I don't think I could eat, but a drink might help my nerves." He shudders. "I need a shower first, though." Charles shows him the way, gesturing into the spacious room. There's a tub as well as a shower, half sunk into the floor for ease of access.

"There's plenty of hot water and clean towels, and I'll bring you some clean clothes."

"Thank you, Charles."

"Don't worry about it." He smiles softly and rolls off toward the stairs and onto the lift platform as Erik shuts the door. He hyperventilates for a while in the shower, and then laughs until he cries at the irony of being too shaken up to masturbate with the moveable showerhead. It takes him a long time to feel truly clean, wanting any trace of Shaw's blood or sweat or _anything_ off of him. At last he has to get out, pink and pruney from his long immersion. Just outside the door is a pair of black pajama bottoms (with little molecular diagrams on them, and that's just as adorkable as he would expect) and an enormous Oxford t-shirt. He can't help but smile, and dries off and puts them on. There's a light over in the kitchen, and he goes to join Charles.

A drink does help Erik's nerves, and Charles's as well. They sit in silence for a while before Charles mentions the various guest rooms and that Erik can either tell his story now or save it for breakfast. "I might as well tell you now," he says softly, sipping his second brandy. Charles nods, and listens. About an afterhours negotiation with Shaw that turned into a rape attempt and then a murder attempt and then Shaw's death on one of the Nazi daggers the creep has always had in his office.

"I see. Tired?"

"Very." He swallows, long fingers fidgeting with his glass. "Charles…"

"Yes?"

"Would you mind very much if I shared your bed?"

"Erik, I…"

"Not in any professional capacity, I just don't want to be alone. If you don't want that, it's fine, you've already done more for me than I ever could have expected, and—" He stops when Charles puts a finger to his lips.

"Of course I don't mind that. And it's certainly big enough for two."

Really, Charles's bed is big enough for six. He likes it that way; it gives him more room to dream. Erik smiles when he sees it, and crawls under the covers on the far side as Charles parks his chair and joins him. Charles tries not to immediately wrap around Erik, surprised when he pulls him into his arms.

"Is this okay, Charles?"

"Yes."

"Good." He kisses the top of Charles's head and relaxes against him. Exhausted from an adrenaline crash and time in holding, Erik is soon asleep. Charles takes longer, just being with him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and watching his unguarded face for the first time.

In the morning, Emma calls Charles, since he had called her office before going to get Erik. She tells him exactly how stupid he is and how much it's going to cost him as Erik lets out a muffled moan at being woken up before noon and staggers to the bathroom. "What the hell are you thinking, Charles? This isn't Pretty Woman!"

"I'm thinking that Erik is a person I care about who has found himself in need of legal representation."


End file.
